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1 AbG IG 1895 



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WITH W7^LK5 
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AT GRAY GABLES 

WITH WALKS ALONG THE SHORE OF 
BUZZARD'S BAY 






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COLORED ILLlSTRATIO^S. 

Cray Gables. 

fbe lV<it End of Gray Gahla and Boat-laHiiing. 

A Btt of Mjitument Beacb. 

H'ingstu-'k Ligbtbome. Bu^^ard's Bay. 

Du-arf Oaki about the Home of President Cleveland. 

Bird hland Ugbtbouse. 



Copyright, i8o^, br 

Raphael Tuck and Sons 

Compaiiv, Limited 



l^ngfellow's Poem. " The Ligbtbouie." is used by kind 
permiiiioH of Messrs. Houghton. Mtjpm. and Company. 



AT GRAY GABLES, 

AND WALKS ALONG THE SHORE OF BUZZARD'S BAY, 





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DUZZARD'S BAY is an inlet of tlie Atlantic Ocean on the southern shores of Massachusetts, and forms one 
of its three great bays. It extends northeastward about thirty miles, and varies from five to ten miles 
in width. 

The Bay has attracted special interest in these latest years from the selection of its shores as a summer 
home by President Cleveland. At the head waters of the Bay, and just to the north of Monument Beach, 
Mr. Cleveland has built his country-house, " Gray Gables," of which Mr. Harlow gives us two charming 



sketches. It stands on a large tract of land between Cedar Pond Creek and "Uncle Bill's" Cove. "Oak 
and pine woods screen the place on the eastern side, and a rolling pasture e.xtends to the house, situated close 
by the rocky beach. Great boulders are scattered about on the grass; wide, shady piazzas nearly surround 
the house, which receives its appropriate name from the six picturesque gables, three on the Bay side and 
three on the land side. The unpainted shingles are turning to a quiet, mossy color, which enables the passing 
thousands on tiie Old Colony railroad, a mile away, to recognize the house. It was selected by Mr. Cleve- 
land for the retirement which it afforded, as well as for its attractive surroundings. The immediate and 
distaiit scenery is exceedingly pleasing and restful. A cove furnishes anchorage and shelter for Mr. Cleveland's 
cat-boat ' Ruth,' in which, with his skipper, he often goes out for a sail or a try at the llsh." 

The entrance to Buzzard's Bay from the ocean lies between Goosberry Neck on the west, and on the 
east Cuttyhunk Island, the most western of the Elizabeth Islands, famous as the place where Bartholomew 
Gosnold first settled his little colony in 1602 ; and it was here that the first house was built in New England. 

It is not at all improbable, and in fact there is much good evidence in support of the theory, that Thortinn, 
with his Norsemen, sailed round the point and explored the Bay in 1007, giving to it tiie name of Straum 
Fiord, or Bay of Currents. No bold discoverer from the Old World, for at least five hundred years after 
this, ever disturbed the peaceful life of the Indians, — the Wampanoags on the west, and the Mashpees on 
the east, — whose primitive settlements can still be traced along the shores of the Bay by the great heaps of 
clam and oyster shells. The soft, musical llow of their language is still preserved to us through the names 
of the many places scattered all along the bay. Even after Columbus had discovered this country, it was not 
until 1524 that this part of the New World was reached, and then it was by that intrepid Rorentine navigator 
Verrazano, during his famous voyage from Cape May to Nova Scotia. He describes in enthusiastic temis a 
certain " most excellent bay, wherein " he stayed for fifteen days. Bartholomew Gosnold, when he made his 
voyage from Falmouth, England, was in search of this harbor of Verrazano's, and thought that he had found 
it in Buzzard's Bay, which he named " Gosnold's Hope." Later, it was called by the name it is now known 
by, on account of the great number of tish-hawks or little buzzards that flocked about its shores and islands. 

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While doubling a cape, Gosnold was astonished at the many codfish that were caught by members of his 
crew, and he therefore immediately christened the cape, Cape Cod, the first English name bestowed on any 
place in New England. One of the voyagers describes the place as a veritable Paradise, with its great forests 
and beautiful growths of shrubbery and flowers. The forests have been spared to Naushon alone. On account 
of the greater safety of the place from attacks of the neighboring Indian tribes, Cuttyhunk was selected as 
the spot best adapted for the site of a colony. Here Gosnold built his house and surrounded it with a 
stockade, of which signs were still visible as late as 1797, when a distinguished historian visited the place. 
After barely a month's stay, the little settlement broke up and the colonists set sail for England. 

Let us now light olm' fairy lamp, and then summon the good Genii, with his wonderful wishing carpet, 
and command him to take us a flying trip around the Bay, and — 

• • On wide, waving wings expanded bear 
The flying chariot through the fields of air." 

Long Neck, in the southeastern part of the Bay, and known as Penzance, from its resemblance to Falmouth, 
England, is the station of the Fish Commission, where millions of young fish and lobsters are hatched annually. 
Quamquisset Harbor, and fiu-ther north, Chapoquoit Harbor, are typical of many of the towns fringing the Bay, 
with their red-roofed houses, picturesque windmills and old mouldering wharves. The shore between Chapoquoit 
Harbor and Scraggy Neck was formerly the site of the settlements of the Mashpee tribe of Indians, whose few 
survivors still live in the town of that name. A friend of John Eliot, Richard Bourne, went as a missionary 
to this tribe in 1658, and gathered together an Indian church, which still "exists. 

We next tly over Wenaument, jutting far out into the Bay, and at its end stands VVingsneck Light. 
We must now beg our Genii to let us stop for a few moments at Monument Beach, to take a peep at " Gray 
Gables " and at Mr. Joseph Jefferson's " Crow's Nest." As we approach Monument Beach, we see Manomet, 
where, in 1627, the Pilgrims planted a trading station, where the Dutch from New Amsterdam and the 
colonists from Virginia came to trade with their more Puritanical brethren. Arriving at Bourne village and 

(7) 



crossing Monument River, in a short time we reach Mr. Jefferson's unique summer house, with its picturesque 
Dutcii windmills. It stands on a "thickly wooJed knoll overlooking; Buttermilk Bay, the head waters of 
Buzzard's Bay. The house is tilled with works of art, many from Mr. Jefferson's own brush, and innu- 
merable and interesting relics of Mr. Jefferson's theatrical life. 

From here we gain " Gray Gables," the summer house of President Cleveland, who has said that those 
" who enjoy the cool breezes of Buzzard's Bay are favored above all others by a kind Providence." Near it. 
Monument River tlows into the Bay. The lirst European who sailed up the stream was probably the Secretary 
of the New Amsterdam Colony, when he made his famous visit to Plymouth in the year 1627. Down 
along the shore is Monument Beach, a curving strand stretching back to green knolls on which stand clusters 
of summer cottages and a large hotel. The hull of an old sloop lies by the water's edge, and on any 
summer morning rows of people in bright costumes are to be seen seated on its rails, gazing idly at the 
bathers. Here again Mr. Harlow's clever brush shows us a bit of Monument Beach. 

As we continue our tour, we come to Onset Bay. This is the Spiritualists' Mecca, where they assemble 
every summer for their Camp-meeting. Tiiere are about live hundred cottages or " camps," which arc always 
tilled, the population at the time of the Camp-meeting varying from tin-ee to seven thousand. On the liill 
just back of the town is the " temple," where the more important meetings are held. 

From Onset Bay we pass by Tempe's Knob, where the Bay grows narrower, and the many little islands 
glisten in the sunlight like so many jewels ; around Great Hill, where Queen Awashauk made her treaty of 
peace. " During King Philip's War, the gallant Captain Church met here the Queen and her tribe on their 
way to Sandwicii to make peace with the Governor of the Plymouth Colony. The Queen entertained him 
cordially with ' fried eels, bass, flat lish, and shell lish,' and then, around a great bonlire of pine knots, she and 
her warriors pledged her allegiance to the English, thus weakening Philip's power and probably sealing his fate." 

We now round Bird Island witii its great wiiite lighthouse, past Great Neck aii.i on up Sippican Harbor, 
to Marion, which nestles at its very head waters. Here the editor of The Century Mai!,ii{iiie, Mr. Ricii.ud 
Watson Gilder, has his summer residence. From Marion, over open lieids and through great woods of pine 

(8) 



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and walnut, we come to Mattapoisett. There still exist here traditions of the wondrous feats of strength 
performed by the local, rm-al Hercules, a certain George Briggs, who, unaided and without a weapon of 
any kind, captured a buck. During the latter years of his life he built, alone, a stone wall of such gigantic 
rocks that, on seeing it, the visitor doubts if it be the work of mortal hands. 

A little cove on the north shore, where the village proper is situated, offers a quiet, tranquil resting- 
place, which old retired sea-captains have chosen for their last anchorage. On our way to Fairhaven, we 
pass innumerable coves and points, receding until they sink into the waters of the Bay, with low, swampy 
marshes lying between, — a characteristic feature of this low region. 

Fairhaven is one of the most beautiful spots on the Bay, and once, together with Acushnet, formed a 
part of New Bedford. Here there is an old fort, dating back to the early revolutionary times, and of some 
importance during the War of 1812. New Bedford is the next place over which our carpet carries us, and 
this is the metropolis of the Bay. Here we hnd many large cotton mills. Indeed, New Bedford ranks third 
in the United States in the extent of this industry. The wharves present a lively, bustling scene of activity, 
and are, perhaps, the most striking feature of the town. The whaling industry, although still the largest 
in the world, has fallen oft' much of late; and although there is still a fleet of some seventy sail, yet one 
looks in vain for the great fleet of former days. 

Nonquitt, a quiet little place, bringing us nearly to our journey's end, is situated on the southwestern 
shore of the Bay. Here it was that General Philip Sheridan passed his last sad days. This is the place 
christened " Hops Hill " by Gosnold, where he was met by a party of men, women, and children, who gave 
him skins of wild beasts, turtles, hemp, tobacco, and entertained him with " gentle kindness." A few miles 
farther south, and almost directly opposite the Elizabeth Islands, lies Old Dartmouth, one of the early planta- 
tions of the Plymouth Colony. The fishing in Buzzard's Bay is excellent, and forms one of the great 
industries of the " natives " of the Bay. When bluetish " strike in," there is excitement all along the shore, 
and all sorts of craft strike out in pursuit of them. Many men who were born on the Bay shores and went 
away to seek fortune are in the habit of returning annually to enjoy the summer tishing which the Bay 

(9J 



affords; to cast tlicir lines for scup, tuitoj;, bass, Spanish mackerel, squeteairue, an.l Muelish. Of all these, 
bliielish j;ive the most sport, and are more plentiful during some years than durinj,^ others. Their comini;s 
and iroinjjs have been mysterious. From the year 1659 to the year 176) they were recorded as plentiful, 
but in the year 1764 they disappeared suddenly, and were not seen aj^ain until the year IS 10. A larj;e 
school came into the Bay on a Sunday morning in June, and the hids who discovered them iiurried u< the 
meeting-house to proclaim the glad tidings. The doors were wide open, the preacher was expounding, when 
a shrill cry rang out, " Bluelish in the Bay ! " In a twinkling the meeting-house was emptied, and every 
boat belonging to the village was soon spreading its sails fur the open water; and as the snowy white wings 
of the tiny vessels unfurled themselves and glided lightly and airily into the dim iiorizon, so the kind 
Genii wiili his muvellois carpet slowly melts away on the soft, fresh breeze of Buzzard's Bay. 




TJje Slilbtti, Gray CibUi. 



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I 



THE LIGHTHOUSE. 



HY HENRY IVADSIVORTH LCiNGFELUM^. 



THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea ; 
And on its outer point, some miles a-ueay 
The lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
A pillar of Jire by night, of cloud by day. 



Not one alone : from each projecting cape 
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, 
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape. 
Hoi dins its lantern o'er the restless sur^e. 



Even at this distance I can see the tides. 
Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 
In the white lip, and tremor of the face. 



And the great ships sail outieard and return. 
Bending and bon'ing o'er tlie billowy sieells ; 
And ever joyful, as they sec it burn. 
They -wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 



And as the evening darkens, to ! how bright. 
Through tlje deep purple of the twilight air. 
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light, 
IJ'ith strange, unearthly splendor in the glare. 



They come forth from the darkness, and their sails 

Gleam for a moment only in Um bla^e ; 

And eager faces, as the light unveils, 

Ga^e at the tower, and vanish while they ga^e- 



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steadfast, seretie, immovable, the same 
Year after year, through all the silent night. 
Burns on for evermore that ^jiienebless Jianie, 
Shines on that inextinguishable light . 



A nexv Prometheus, ehaineJ upon the rod;. 
Still grasping in his band the lire of Jove, 
It does not bear the erw nor heed the shock. 
But hails the mariner ixith uvrds of love. 



The sea-bird ivheeling round it. nifh the din 
Of icings and icinds, and solitary cries. 
Blinded and maddened by the light xeilhin. 
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 



'• Sail on ! " it says, — " 5.7// on, ye stately ships. 
And 'icith your Jloating bridge the ocean span . 
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse ; 
Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!" 




Along tbi Shore. 



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BY THE SEA-SHORE. 



BY JOHN WHITE CHADIVICK. 



THE curved strand 
Of cool, gray sand 
Lies like a sickle by the sea ; 
The tide is low, 
But soft and slow 
[s creeping higher up the lea. 



Each higher wave 

Doth touch and lave 
A million pebbles smooth and bright ; 

Straightway they grow 

A beauteous show. 
With hues unknown before the sight. 



The beach-birds fleet. 

With twinkling feet. 
Hurry and scurry to and fro. 

And sip and chat 

Of this and tlmt 
Which vou and I niav never know. 



(«3> 



High up the beach. 

Far out of reach 
Of common tides that ebb and flow. 

The drift-wood's heap 

Doth record keep 
Of storms that perished long ago. 



Nor storms alone : 

I bear the iiiotvi 
Of vokt'S chixked by dashing brine. 

When sunken rock 

Or tempest shock 
Crushed the good vessel's oaken spine. 



A calm more deep, 

As 'twere asleep, 
Lpon the icearv ocean falls : 

So loic if sighs. 

Its murmur dies. 
While shrill the boding cricket calls. 



Where ends the beach. 

The cliffs upreach 
Their lichen-wrinkled foreheads old ; 

And here I rest. 

While all the west 
Grows brighter with the sunset's gold. 



peace and rest ! 

Upon the breast 
Of God himself I seem to lean. 

No break, no bar 

Of sun or star : 
Just God and I. with naught between. 



Far out at sea 

The ships that flee 
Along the dim horiion's line 

Their sails unfold 

Like cloth of gold. 
Transfigured by that light divine. 



Oh. when some day 

In vain I pray 
For days like these to come again, 

I shall rejoice 

With heart and voice 
That one such day has ever been. 



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Headiuatcrs of Bn^i^ard's Bay. 

ON THE STRAND. From the German of Storm. 



HOMEWARD the gull is ping, 
And t-Lviligbt darkens fast 
Across the wet sea-margin 
Where sunlight lingers last. 

The shadowy wings flit over, 
And skim along the deep ; 

And veiled in cloud, and silent. 
Like dreams the islands sleep. 



I hear from pi ashy marshes 
A strange, mysterious cry ; 

A lonesome bird is calling: 
How like to that am I. 

And now the rain falls softly. 
And now the wood is still ; 

But words which ocean whispers 
Are open to my will. 



fi5) 



ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand Jlee/s s'un'p over I bee in vain ; 
Man niartii the earth with ruin ; bis control 
Stops iL'ith the shore ; upon the u-atery plain 
The ureclis are all thy deeds, nor doth remain 
A shadou' of man's ravages, save his oicn. 
When for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncolfined. and unknown 




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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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